NationStates Jolt Archive


The Queen is dead! Long live the Queen!

Questers
02-06-2006, 22:56
[CLOSED!, passion play. You may post government responses but nothing else unless both me and Juumsjuums agree.]

BBC TV broadcast, London

'And here comes Her Majesty the Queen, to meet children from Mount Grace Priory school.. and here she comes, out from the Royal carriage... isn't she brave, coming out in the open like that John?'

'Well of course Jake, but after all, who would want to hurt our beloved Queen?'

'Of course. Lets not forget the millions of pounds Her Majesty's has invested in Childrens Charities and other noble causes. Just look at the crowds! Its clear now that the Republican Party isn't gaining any ground whatsoever.'

Vince Dercia was retired. Well, more interestingly, he was an SAS operative, back in the day. He had routed around the jungles of Malaya, he had conducted bush warfare in Rhodesia, and he had paradropped onto the Falklands. And now he was standing next to his little daughter as she was about to be greeted by the Queen herself. He felt so proud.. eighteen years of service for the crown and now he was going to be priveleged enough to meet Her Majesty in person. He kneeled down beside his daughter and whispered in her ear. 'you alright love?'

'Yeah daddy!' she was really excited. He felt so proud.. his own daughter! This would be a marking point in the family. She was dressed up nice, too. Even with his past military service, Vince wasn't exactly well paid and he hadn't alot of money, but it was clear the effort the working class man had put into this event. 'You still remember how to curtsee?'

'Yep.' she grinned back at him. 'Good girl.' he replied, and stood up as straight as he could, eight different war medals adorned across his chest.

Finally, it was their turn, and as the Queen Clarantina herself came up to Vince and his daughter. He grinned widely and bowed, and his little daughter did her well practiced curtsee. 'Well don't you look pretty today?' Clara asked Vince's little daughter. 'Thank you very kindly Your Majesty!'

'Do you go to school?' She asked.

'Of course! Daddy paid for my school instead of a new car because he said that education is the key, or something. but I never sawed a key in school, Your Majesty. Except the caretaker. He's mean.'

'Why is he mean?' Clara looked genuinly concerned.

'He said that I was a brat.'

'Well thats not true at all. You're a very charming young lady.' The Queen replied.

Vince smiled, and it was by sheer chance he looked up and saw the flash in the building hundreds of yards down the street. He had been in the Mog - he knew what it was. Without thinking a second time he jumped on top of the Queen, tackling her down to the ground with a crump, and simultaenously billions of people wondered what the hell was going on. They figured it out a millisecond later when the subsonic round smacked into Vince's back and killed him instantly.

'Daddy?'

A massive panic broke out and only a second later another round went speeding towards the Queen and this time, it hit her in the head. The police were everywhere. The scene turned to panic. The Monarch of the United Kingdom of Questers had just been assassinated in public.

Westminster Cathedral

Prince William sniffed, and looked up at the audience of TV and radio crews, Lords, Dukes, and Royals in front of him. Outside, millions of Questarians in London lined the streets in silence. Billions all over the country. Billions all over the Commonwealth.

'It is with great sadness that I announce today, that Her Majesty the Queen Clarantina II, Sovereign of the United Kingdom, of its colonies, Empress of India and Australia, Imperial ruler of eighteen different African states, Empress of Malaya and Singapore, Royal CEO of the North Borneo Company, died at 15:14 hours this afternoon. She did not die of old age. She did not die of a disease. More importantly, she did not die as a result of an accident. No, the most loving Monarch this country has ever known was assassinated by a foreign force. I will not yet announce who this is. I am sure that Her Majesty the Queen was greeted by angels at the gates of Heaven and escorted into the Kingdom of God.

The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.'

He looked down, and up again, the fake tears welling in his eyes. Good, they believed it. They watched as the most senior Royal alive, Prince William, pressed the button for the Queen's body to be cremated. Three days later, he was inaugurated as King of the United Kingdom and its colonies. King William VI. The crown suited him. And that, was when the King began his vicious propaganda assault on Juumanistra, just like he had done a week earlier against King Fedor of the Macabees. And as mentioned before, even if th eMonarch has no legislatory power, his word is basically unwritten law. If the Monarch says smoking is bad, people tried their best to stop smoking, ignorant of how many government ordinances tried to stop it. Interestingly enough, William IV didn't do this, maybe because he owned shares in Quester's largest tobacco company. In fact, he even went so far as to say in public that 'Smoking is good for getting rid of stress.' Either way, he began the vicious attack on Juumanistra. It started with snide comments that were pickedup by newspapers - 'they're all Commies - we alll know what happens to Commie governments.' or 'What can you expect from a nation that has never heard of morals?' or 'Freedom is north of the Juumanistraan border.'

Then it got worse. 'There's no reason to rule out a Juumanistraan sponsored assassination.' was something he shrugged on a TV show. Republicans were now flocking across the border, scared of William IV and his lust for power across the whole of Antarchon. To those opposed to the monarchy, it was obvious what he was going to do, and so many moved to DPUO, Praetonia, or The Freethinkers - but those not rich enough to afford the plane tickets and the ferries for their possessions took the border into Juumanistra. They would later serve as 'traitors' against their nation. And then, the next week, he started it.

House of Commons

'From data gathered from our intelligence services - and I trust them with my life - it is obvious now who was responsible for this grievous attack no our nation. Yes, friends, the neighbouring Communist 'utopia' of Juumanistra. They and their Republican ideals have attacked our nation and destroyed its highest level of government. The world does not believe us. Almost all our allies do not believe us. If a nation can hit at our highest level of government and destroy it with INTERNATIONAL support, what can it do next? Can it be allowed to choose our military strength for us? How about our government spending? Our economic policy? NO! This cannot be let to rest! We must remove the evil government of Juumanistra if they cannot bow down to the demands of the United Kingdom. If they do not do this, we will show them the meaning of vengeance. I hereby demand that the Juumanistran government pay the sum of eleven trillion pound sterling to the United Kingdom in reparations, and surrender two thousand kilometres worth of land down from the border to the UK. If these demands are not met, the UK will take immediate and strong action. Be warned.'

Around the world, throughout the commonwealth and the UK, billions of people clapped. They all certainly did in the Commons too. But not neccessarily out of support; out of fear. One man, however, dared to stand up. The seventy year old Socialist MP for Hull.

'Sir,'

'Do not mock me, you Communist slimeball!' William demanded angrily, his face red with anger. The Commons clapped with joy and agreement. Or false agreement.

'I was not mocking you, Your Majesty, but I suggest that our government takes further action in locating the means of this assassination. Let us not go to war so hastily over an action. Can it be proved our most gracious Queen was assassinated by Juumanistra? Can we hold them to it? We have already made pledges to action in Greater Dienstad? can we-'

'Do not ask CAN, Gerald. Ask WHEN. Are you suggesting that we allow the assassination of Her Majesty to go unpunished? It is OBVIOUS who did this to us. We must destroy them if they do not bow down to us. We will not let some petty Communist country boss us around. Are you sympathising with the terrorists who did this for us?'

'No, Your Majesty. I was merely suggetsing that we take further enquiry and make diplomatic action with-'

'WE DO NOT NEGOTIATE WITH TERRORISTS!' William bawled at the old man. It was undeserved. The old man was gentle, he was not angry adn he was not accusing. Unfortunately, William has no room for those of the left, or anyone who seems to like the left.

'And that brings me to another point.' William began. 'Will we allow political parties that support our enemies to exist in this country? Answer: of course not! I hereby, on that matter, disband the following political entities:
The Socialist Democratic Party, the Socialist Unionist Party, and the Republican Party. Operation of these parties in public and private meetings and demonstrations is hereby illegal and punishable by law.'

Gerald Trent, the Socialist MP that had dared to speak out, did not look surprised. He did not look angry, or vengeful. He looked dissapointed.

~

Saturday, 03:00 hours

'The Juumanistrans have not met our demands. In fact, they dare to deny it was them who made this attack on our nation. It is clear now who did this attack. It was the Juumanistran communist government, which, in its hatred of freedom, and civilisation, attacked and killed our great Monarch. Nad now, they must pay. I hereby declare a state of war exists between us and Juumanistra. I hereby call upon every Questarian male to answer the ultimate call, to fight for what he knows is right. If the Communists can destroy our highest level of government and get away with it; what else can they do? Our entire nation, nay, our entire culture, is at stake. What millions of Questarians have died for in the past is now at stake. I promise you this; the Union jack shall never be lowered from Buckingham Palace. God save the King.'

'Bloody hell. This is it.' Major-General Brian Taylor stammered. His tank was the command Centurion of the 1st Army Corp - that's 20,000 Centurions and quarter million infantry. Supported by eight thousand aircraft. He said the historic opening words of the war.

'This is Alpha One One One to all responding units. We have our orders. We are to assault as far as possible into Juumanistra, keeping coordination with the two other army groups. I have been told by Mount Highdon that the war will be over in two months flat. We can reach the capital by daybreak on monday. This is it boys. Good luck, and God Save the King.'

As he said that, thousands of planes, from Tornado ADVs to Hurricanes and Spitfires flew across the border, whizzing their jet engines and props respectievly, and Taylor shouted down to his driver;

'Maria! Get this thing moving, NOW!'

'Aye sir!.' she grinned, slipping on her armoured corp purple beret. 'Cmon lad!' the engine revved, and hummed, and the tank pushed itself forward out of the sandbags and at leisurely pace, with the infantry on the trucks and in the APCs around it. Sighing and pushing the hatch up, Taylor was met by the infantry officer in joint charge of the operation, David Tormore.

'Aright.' He grinned.

'Mhm.' Brian responded, and marvelled as he looked around him. as far as the eye could see, tanks, trucks, APCs, all loaded with infantry. Speeding across the massive wasteland the armoured units were poised to hit the Juumanistraan capital as fast as possible. 60,000 tanks. 900,000 infantry. And that was before conscription.

God Save the King.
Franberry
02-06-2006, 23:17
To: King William VI, Sovereign of the United Kingdom, of its colonies, Emperor of India and Australia, Imperial ruler of eighteen different African states, Empreror of Malaya and Singapore

From: Jeory Goolitan, President of the Socialist Sultanate Dutchydom of Franberry

We are sadended by the loss of of a great and popular monarch. Her Majesty the Queen Clarantina II, was a powerful and kind ruler, and I belive that we shall all miss her time on the throne. But, with the mourning, comes congratulations, although we wish the could be given at a different time, Franberry congratulates you on your new position.

For Glory!

Signed,
Jeory Goolitan,
President of the Socialist Sultanate Dutchydom of Franberry
Mekugi
02-06-2006, 23:56
“You really must be joking..” came the sly and almost unbelieving voice of the current Praetor of the Armed Democratic Republic Patrick O’Neil was a very laid back man, slow to anger and even slower to sympathy. He had been leaning in his high backed leather chair of his office as sound of the summer rains drifted in through the partially opened windows of his office.

“No sir, it seems the Questerians long since allies and, so it seemed, content nationalists have moved south towards the Juumansitran Border.” A quiet and well dressed Aid of the State addressed the Praetor.

“ Why would they commit such nonsense?” Shot back the Praetor a bit more forceful than usual, a very uncharacteristic action for the soft spoken man.

“It seems they believe the Juumanistrains assassinated their Queen.”

“Bollocks, the Juumanistrians would have had more success boring her to death than actually shooting her. Besides, did they provide any proof?” The Praetor by this point was amix, he had no idea what had gotten into their northern neighbors and was seeking to find a rational explanation.

“No sir, it seems the possibility became a suggestion, and then to fact… how, were not entirely sure. IRIS blames National Mourning and Irrationality. They WANT to believe that Juumansitra killed their queen, and as such, do.”

“Bloody Quest’s they just want to pick fights cause their leader is dead… if that’s how it is then so be it.

We’ll open diplomatic channels through our consulate there and pray they listen. Till then offer our complete support and move our troops to the border, if they give us the go ahead, and ONLY if they give us the go ahead move north to help reinforce their lines. Ready the Third Republican Guard, we may have the Third Expeditionary force overseas but how dare they unsettle the peace of our region.” The Praetor was almost furious this was madness, it was uncalled for and it certainly was not something he had expected today.

The Aid bowed and stepped back slowly closing the binder in front of him and securing it underneath his left arm.

“certainly sir… Can I get you your daily tea?’

“No, I’ve lost my taste for tea today, it comes from Questers anyhow… pour it in the streets.” As the Aid left him in his office he listened the slow pitter-patter of the off again on again summer rains. The Praetor considered writing the Monarch personally but he knew the venom in his tone could sabotage their chance at peace, there would be little room for error on any side..

---

To: His Majesty's United Kingdom of Questers
From: Consul William Decker, The Mekugian Consulate

We are obviously deeply hurt by the loss of her Majesty the Queen but what disturbs us nearly equally is they way at which you strike out at your neighbor in a time when you should seek to unite not only your own nation but the region in order to better support each other in such sad times. We respectfully Urge the Monarchy to reconsider its threats against its Neighbor and seek through bi- or tri-lateral communications; closure.

We would be willing to provide whatever resources needed to help discover the true assassin and allow your nation to seek its proper and rational vengeance on the perpetrator. However we must advise the Monarchy that any offensive action against the Juumanistrians will bring with it a swift reprisal in the defense of their sovereign territory.

We put no time limit on your response as this is not an ultimatum, but we must caution your High Majesty that we will not pull any punches should you abandon the path of logic and invade.
Aralonia
03-06-2006, 01:02
The Republic of Aralonia will hold a moment of silence for the loss of such a great monarch. Long live the Queen, indeed.
Juumanistra
03-06-2006, 02:00
Wrign, Juumusia, eighteen hours before commencement of Questarian offensive operations.

“They think we did what?” President Warner exploded before his assembled cabinet. “Please tell me this is some typist in a diplomatic cable typoing ‘killed’ instead of ‘skilled’ or something that makes a normal international incident.”

“Having your head of state assassinated is never a ‘normal’ international incident, Winston,” Secretary of State Curtis Broder interjected, before being glowered back into line by his boss. “And given it was a televised broadcast of the Questarian House of Commons, I have my doubts about it being a typo.”

“The new king said we killed the queen in front of the assembled lower house of the Parliament?!” Warner sputtered. “The idiot couldn’t possibly have, I don’t know, tried something that wasn’t quite so high-profile?”

“That’s to say nothing of William’s newfound love of the phrase ‘commie’, which seems entirely divorced from reality, as he’s using it to describe us,” Broder continued. “And then there’s his wanting the northern third of the country and a nine trillion ingut indemnity.”

“Even further divorced from reality,” Secretary of Defense Benjamin Sheffield said, stepping up to the proverbial plate. “But he does seem to be quite serious about trying to enforce his will upon Juumanistra.”

“Joy of joys,” Warner sighed heavily, “let me guess: Half a million troops along the northern frontier, bustling with activity?”

“Much closer to a million, sir,” Sheffield said, arching his fingers, “they’ve transferred some of the troops they’ve been calling up since they got involved in the Havenic-Macabeean conflict to the northern frontier instead,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “mostly mechanized from what SIGINT has gathered so far. And lotsa tanks. Dated as hell, but lotsa tanks nonetheless.”

“Do we have any idea how long we have before they do anything excessively stupid?”

“Could be hours, could be weeks. No real telling without more specific intelligence. All depends on how hard the Questarians want their initial push to be.”

“Well then, gentlemen, I suggest we best start planning to push back, should it come to that.”

*=*=*=*=*

The Juuman response immediate response was lackluster, to say the least. The northern frontier had never been of great concern to the Dominion, as relations with Questaria had always been quite good. The Army had stationed a combined two corps to hold the whole a thousand kilometers: Two main armor and four mechanized infantry divisions, numbering a total of roughly 160,000 men were all that held the northern frontier during peacetime. This was supposed to be augmented in wartime by 550,000 Home Guard levies, but mobilization of the Home Guards of the border governates would take time. Until then, or reinforcements arrived from the south, the six divisions of 34th and 99th Corps would have to hold the line in the event of attack.

The units of 34th and 99th Corps were called up and deployed as best as could be managed given the circumstances. 34th Corps anchored the western half of the line, centered at Halrua in the west, a key road junction forty miles inland from the border and the ancient fortress of Khalium, which overlooked the key east-west highway between the coasts, in the east, which itself was roughly the same distance from the border, with the plains of Seronika lying between them. The leading edges of the line, in the east and west, were the two main armor divisions of the force, the 3rd and 22nd Main Armor, with the four mechanized infantry divisions concentrated on the plains between Halrua and Khalium.

In anticipation of potential trouble, aircraft were put on constant alert, with two wings worth of Na-24As, some 216 of them, patrolling the border at any given moment. This was supplemented by the infrastructure of modern air warfare: AWACS, C4I, EW, and tanker aircraft in appropriate numbers to support the proverbial tip of the spear took to the skies, as well, and were further supplemented by both armed and unarmed unmanned aircraft flying over the border regions, as well as the aviation brigades of the six divisions stationed in the north.

All of this, though, may well have not proved enough to deter, let alone stop, potential Questarian aggression. The only thing that could do that was more troops, which were in precious scarce supply in the north. Some twenty-five divisions were put on notification of deployment from further south, but it would take time to move them and their material northward.

In the mean time, all that could be hoped for was that an attack would not come…

*=*=*=*=*

0248 Local Standard Time, the skies above the border

Captain Jonathon “Wedge” Althouse was not amused in the slightest. He and his flightmates had been flying a combat air patrol for the past two hours and things had been peaceable. He’d had his leave canceled a mere twelve hours earlier due to the nature of the Questarian demands. He’d hoped they were just bluffing: Judging by the number of contacts that were on his radar screens, they weren’t.

“Please tell me that this a glitch in the radar and that those are not real contacts,” Wedge asked over his shoulder to his WSO.

“Sorry boss, radar diagnostics check out just fine: Starlight and Helios AWACS telemetry matches, as well. They’re real.”

“And I assume we’ve broadcast the standard cease-and-desist warnings, haven’t we?”

“Did so a few minutes ago: The launched ones just keep coming and we keep picking up more of them.”

“Any idea what we’ll be facing if we’re forced to trade fire?”

“Everything, chief, from Tornados down to Spitfires. Prop-based, mind you, not some new-fangled ones.”

“Joy. I’ve never been to a shooting gallery.”

*=*=*=*=*

The air battle opened with unmitigated fury, as the Juuman Makos and their AAGM.21s and AAGM.18s detected the coming horde of enemy fighters, directing their might against the enemy’s most advanced aircraft. Despite shooting first and from out of the range of even the most advanced of the enemy’s Tornados, raw numbers ensured that even with each of their missile bays spent of its fourteen weapons, the Na-24s were still hip-deep in feces. With their primary means of dealing with the enemy neutralized, the Makos were forced to begin their own battle for survival, as they attempted to evade enemy counter bombardment. Despite their most valiant efforts, their ranks thinned dramatically as they closed with the mass of enemy aircraft. Two-fifths of their aircraft were lost during closer to dogfighting range, though thankfully, only a few crews were unable to escape. As they closed to cannon engagement range, years of training and doctrine were finally to be put to the test, as the Juumanistran Na-24 Block 7 was arguably the most maneuverable fight in the world.

The Makos, however, were not engaging the full brunt of the Questarian air offensive but were, instead, throwing themselves against the Questarian grab at air superiority. The other half of her air armada, that tasked with ground attack, moved relatively unmolested towards the half-dozen airfields that were within striking distance of the border. Juuman aerial reinforcements had yet to arrive and most of these fields’ based aircraft were or had been airborne for hours and were, currently, engaged in manic dogfighting with the Questarian air superiority contingent. Still, several dozen Nu-38Cs remained for air defense, as well as the short- and medium-range surface-to-air assets that each field had. As the enemy armada approached, they roused themselves to attempt to take down as many of the on-coming aircraft as possible: Anti-air defenses were put on heightened alert as the enemy approached.

However, it would be in vain. The Nu-38s offered token resistance to such a small force and suffered the fate of the Makos: Expending their ordinance, closing to dogfighting range, and getting massacred in the process. With their aerial assets obliterated, the fields were easy pickings, as the enemy descended upon them. While the SAM sites did their best to put up a missile swarm, which they indeed did as hundreds of Schneider and Zealot SAMs were thrown skyward, there were still too many to hope to stop. And so fire rained on the bases, leveling radar installations and most non-essential infrastructure: The control towers and hangers, however, had successfully been reinforced, since they were natural targets, and for the most part managed to survive the bombardment. The runways, on the other hand, were another matter. Due to raw amount of ordinance dropped, they were cratered the point that it would in all likelihood be easier to pave new runways than rebuild the devastated ones.

Not all was lost in the air, however. Most of the aviation brigades of the Army divisions, to the tune of more than 400 Si-56 Warhawk gunships, with full combat kit, had been airborne at the time of the strike. Staying as low to the ground as they could, they reared their ugly head as Questarian aircraft found themselves busy above and slammed into the twin advancing columns with full force. To say nothing of the several dozen Do-4 Razorback flying guns, which were directed at the massing and advancing enemy as the air battle began. And to the south, the scramble alarm was being sounded: A truly mighty air armada was being assembled to rollback and obliterate the Questarian interlopers.

Things were just getting started.

*=*=*=*=*

0525 LST, 6 miles from the border, Gipperia

“Targets, bearing 2-9-2,” Sergeant Escobar Chavez barked. As he did, the turret of the lead Kyton of 2nd Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Main Armor snapped in the direction of the Questarian column. The 3rd Battalion had been ordered forward, to strike at the flanks and other targets of opportunity of the advancing Questarian column in the east, as the Juuman line shifted to more defendable positions. “Eight Centurions, hit lead, target trailers,” he ordered in rapid succession. He heard the thunk of the TMK.220 being loaded and the breech closing behind it.

“Fire!” As he commanded, the tank rolled for a moment as the mighty Arbiter main gun belched her kinetic fury. This was the eighth time in the past two hours this event had occurred: They’d succeeded in catching yet another armored grouping unawares, thanks to the massive superiority of the Kyton’s night-time fighting capabilities. Sergeant Chavez’s tank alone had racked up nineteen kills: Things were going so well that he’d just expended his last TMK.220 round and was going to have to revert to the TME.220 HEAT round for future engagements. As he gazed out on the wreckage of the lead vehicle in the convoy, that made twenty. They’d be forced to turn back soon, though, as they’d soon be critical on munitions and all, apparently, for naught: The Questarian Army just seemed to keep coming. And coming. And coming.
Sarzonia
03-06-2006, 02:30
The mood in the office of External Affairs was businesslike as various dispatches made their way into and out of the office. With Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Mark Lorber on holiday in southern Benatar, Grant Haffner was in charge. He had held two briefings with his immediate boss soaking up the sun in the resort town, nestled in amongst his friends from Isselmere-Nieland who flocked to the town for its warm weather.

Haffner was about to get a mug of Artitsan coffee when he saw the ashen complexion of the intern who was directly responsible to him.

"Becca, you look like you've just seen a ghost. What gives?"

Becca Hamilton slowly handed Haffner a piece of paper and quickly turned away and trotted off, slamming the door behind her. Haffner looked out quizzically and heard muffled sobs. He raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to the dispatch.

"Queen Clara of Questers is dead. Prince William has been crowned King William VI," the dispatch began. Haffner closed his eyes and took in a quick gulp of air, then opened them and looked further. Then, his eyes narrowed as his face began to contort.

"Mike's going to shit a brick," Haffner said as he stood up and walked briskly out of the office.

------

"Grant, what are you doing? Jay and I are trying to watch a movie," President Mike Sarzo said as he saw Haffner in the doorway leading to his bedroom. Sarzo had not had a chance to even take off his suit coat, but Tyler was sitting up in bed bare chested. Tyler clicked the remote to pause their 20th viewing of Brokeback Mountain as Sarzo slowly walked over to Haffner.

"Mike, this is really important."

"Grant, so is having quality time with my partner."

"Mike, listen to me. Queen Clara is dead."

Sarzo's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened.

"I-- I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's not all. Prince William is now King William VI. But get this, Questers is blaming Juumanistra for an assasination."

"Where do they get tha--"

"They're about to invade with 60,000 tanks."

"WHAT?! That goddamned son of a bitch."

"Who? Who's the son of a bitch, Mike? We don't know jack shit about what's going on over there."

"That's just it Grant. We don't know. They haven't even begun a full investigation into what happened. Hell, we don't even have an autopsy report on the Queen and they're talking about a military invasion?"

"What do we do, Mike?"

"Got any ideas?"

"No. Why do you think I came here to interrupt you and Jay? Because I want to get in on the action in there?"

Sarzo gave Haffner that you'd better get the fuck out of here before I tear your head off look. Fortunately for them both, Haffner complied.

"What just happened," Tyler asked.

"I'd like to know the same thing, Jay. I really would."
Southeastasia
04-06-2006, 07:11
Official Statement by His Right Honorable Prime-Executive Leadership of the United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia, Yao Yang Nelson Neo
http://www.geonames.de/flag-asean.gif

As leader of the Southeast Asian Federal Parliamentarian Government and representative of the Southeast Asian people, I send my warmest condolences to the Questerian people and their nation for the death of Queen Clarantina the Second, Sovereign of the United Kingdom, of its colonies, Empress of India and Australia, Imperial Ruler of eighteen different African states, Empress of Malaya and Singapore, Royal Chief Executive Officer of the North Borneo Company. May she rest in peace, and may justice be delievered....which we ourselves in Southeast Asia suspect there is an obstruction in justice.

Please explain to me why do you blame the Remarkably Sane Dominion of Juumanistra for the preceding Monarch's death. Simply because they are, to use your words, a "Communist Utopia"? There is a difference between Classical Liberalism and Communism, King William the Fourth. Juumanistra is nowhere near communism, a failed and somewhat obsolete ideology, your Highness.

Why have you not even commited a thorough investigation? Do you have something to hide? Why do you suspend all left-leaning political groups and pick a fight with your neighbor? Does the Christian God say that you are supposed to love your neighbor, or something along those lines?

I am not being passive-aggressive to the Questerian United Kingdom nor am I trying to threaten Questerian security (and should Questeria invade the United Sovereign Nations because of this, it shall be dealt with accordingly). Your Highness King William the Fourth, I am merely trying to give some advice to this great national debacle going on within Questeria. Call off the invasion of the Remarkably Sane Dominion and perform a criminal investigation, your Highness - an invasion of the said state shall only result in unneccessary blood-shed and a blackened reputation for the Questerian Kingdom.

Yours Sincerely,
His Right Honorable Prime-Executive Leadership
Yao Yang Nelson Neo
Prime Minister
United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia
Macisikan
04-06-2006, 08:48
Official Communiqué

From: Office of Light, Arn-Maciska
To: King William VI, ruler of Questers


My Brother Monarch, Greetings and Salutations,

We express our most hearfelt sorrow at the death of our Sister Monarch, the late Queen Claratina II; we are assured that Her Majesty was a just and honourable woman, whose memory and legacy will undoubtedly be treasured. We are shocked and angered by this cowardly attack upon such a magnificent leader, and pray that her soul will find peace in God's keeping.

And we express our congratulations to our Brother Monarch, King William VI, and welcome him into the Family of Rulers. We pray that his reign will see prosperity for the people of Questers, and all its domains.

However, we hope that our Brother Monarch will stay his hand in this matter of Juumanistra; we do not doubt that His Majesty feels strong about this matter, but we wonder if perhaps he is not feeling too strongly, and allowing his judgement to be clouded. We urge our Brother Monarch to take a pause in which to reconsider, a lull in which to reflect, so that he may be assured that his actions are the right ones.

May the Blessings of the Living God go with the people of Questers.

By my hand and seal,
His Most Serene Royal Majesty, the Cenobriach Constantine Augustus VII, High King of The United Imperial Kingdoms of Macisikan

by his Grace's Command, Duke Louis Si'Anak, Lord Chancellor of the Privy Council
Questers
05-06-2006, 22:58
The Front Lines

'Company, halt!'

The company of soldiers, wearing their rimmed world war one hats and their bolt action rifles, halted in the square of the small Juumanistran village, sentries posted at all corners of the village. The Union Jack was raised on the village's post office.

'Eight Company, King Battalion, 101st Regiment, 1st Army Group, I have a message from the Prime Minister here, to read to you. This is the same speech that is being read all over our nation, at schools, hospitals, in church, and at workplaces.'

The Captain coughed.

'At 9:00AM this morning, the cabinet and I have decided that a declaration of total war between the United Kingdom and Juumanistra shall be enacted. The world, our allies, our friends, have abandoned us. They claim that an investigation worth 152 billion pound sterling and that spanned two months is not conclusive evidence; this is clearly a plan for foreign forces, long jealous of our colonial holdings and our glorious country, to seize control of Great Questaria. If you believe thechoice of this government is warmongering, then ask yourself this question: if you were Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, Minister of the Exchequer; if you were a member of the government or the leader of this country, would you allow foreigners to strike at our highest level of government and escape unpunished? I think you know the answer already. The reason we are marching to war is to defend Questaria's sovereignty - which, I remind you, is at direct stake. If Questaria is seen as weak; if she does not defend herself, then we have already opened the floodgates for foreign powers to seize our assets. To destroy our way of life.

I am a man that loves peace. I have a family. I have children. I have a nice house, and a nice car, but there is one thing I value over these possessions. And, thouhg I may not be a soldier, a sailor, or an airman, this thing is the defence of my country. As prime minister I will not see my country put under mortal danger without resisting. We are not a third world nation. We are not cowards. We are not weak. If Juumanistra believes it can control Questers by attacking its monarchy, Juumanistra is wrong! We will crush them under the boot of Freedom, Liberty, and Justice!

From this message onwards we will go to every length necessary, including the deployment of our entire arsenal, to remove the Juumanistran threat from our holy land. We will not faulter. I ask every citizen to be ready; carry your gas mask with you at all times, construct a bomb shelter in your back garden. Remember, that for every gram of food you waste, thats one gram that the troops at the front aren't eating. Those troops that are fighting for your freedom.

Thank you, and with Gods Grace may we smash the enemy.'

The company cheered. They believed it; all of it. To them, mindless drones of a plot that even the Prime Minister wasn't aware of, they were fighting for the survival of their families. Damn Communists! (Forget the fact Juumanistra isn't even close to Communism). These troops were sad, however. They were a company that had been left behind to occupy a village, part of a defensive plan to stop any stabs in the rear of the line. They figured they'd see no action (except from the Juumanistran women and teenagers they could get their hands on in private, away from any COs or snitching comrades). How wrong they were.

The frontline

Major General Taylor grunted as the Centurion shook, flipping over. Grabbing onto a handle, he smacked his head against the hot steel and his hold on what he thought may have been a machine gun handle was broken and he felt a stinging sensation - something he remembered as a broken bone. Smoke started pouring from the tank, and quickly he smashed the turret open and almost pushed himself out before the side of the Centurion quickly exploded, ripping apart the tank. He was thrown some metres in the air and landed on the hard ground with a grunt. It was the first time he had properly looked around, and Taylor took a minute to survey his position. Burning and destroyed tanks littered the scene, but ahead his vehicles were still charging. The vicious battle in the air was not going well for the Questarians, the prop planes were dropping like flies. Smoke clogged the sky, and turning back to his ruined tank, Taylor spotted his driver, Maria Venetorio, trying to crawl out from the tank. Running over, he tried to help her, but within a second he found his hands slick with blood.

'Don't worry Maria, you're gonna be fine.' He kept repeating those words, but even then the tanks and the trucks were driving by.

'Give... this letter.. to my mother...'

'No! You're going to make it out of here alive, you understand?'

Taylor looked relieved when a half empty truck carrying some combat engineers was advancing close to his burnt out tank.

'STOP! STOP! STOP!' he tried flagging the truck down. To his relief, it stopped next to the tank and the driver leaned out.

'We have wounded here!'

'Sorry sah, orders from Highdon are to advance as fast as possible.'

The driver began gunning the engine again.

'What? I'm the motherfucking FIELD COMMANDER of this ENTIRE OPERATION, I demand you turn this fucking truck around!' he screamed.

'Sorry sah. No can do.' the driver gunned the truck forwards again.

He swore and stomped the ground with frustration and went back to the tank.

'Look soldier, I am not going to let you die in this hellhole! God damnit, you've got a free ticket back to blighty, you'll be a fucking hero, just hold on!'

He grabbed her around the armpits and pulled, and then realised something. Looking down at his hands slick with blood, he looked back up to see a giant hole in Maria's waist, scrap metal protruding from one end. Blood and gore was soaked into her olive drab battle dress, covering her combat gloves and everywhere else.

'Oh jesus christ.. just hang on, alright, there's bound to be a medevac around somewhere...' he looked eagerly up into the sky. No sign of any aircraft. They were all turning tail back to base, or shot down. No helicopter dare go over to provide any medavac support.

'Uh.. Brian, don't worry. Just make sure to give my mother' Maria leant up and coughed blood, spluttering from her mouth and nose. 'This letter. Make sure my folks read it.'

'You can't.. you can't fucking die. I won't let you, god damnit!'

She coughed again, blood shooting across Taylor's arm.

'Sorry.' she grinned. He chuckled.

'Maria.' He said. 'I love you.'

And then she died.

That is how Driver First Class Maria Venettorio, and her bloody five foot eight by two foot two grave underneath an armoured fighting vehicle, that was forever Questers, would earn her place on a statue outside the post office of central London, clutching a drivers helmet and hand on hip, with the union jack and armed services flag fluttering at half mast, a dedication to every tanker that died in Operation: Lancelot. And that would be alot. A helluva lot.

Tears dripped down his cheek. Looking back up into the sky, the sun was beginning to rise. Only hours in and his command tank was destroyed. His best friends dead. Looking into the sky, missiles, rocket,s and dumb bombs raining down, he realised something. They might have weight of numbers, strength of loyalty and duty, companionship, but if they didn't superior firepower, they were nothing. Woodlice to be picked off and crushed by a curious three year old. This operation was decided just as it had started.
Juumanistra
06-06-2006, 20:56
Major General Chijiro Katsuhito sat in the 3rd Main Armor Division’s command Kyton, immersed in the reports from the initial fighting. Had he not known the men who were writing the reports, he’d have thought those suffering from dementia wrote them. Third Battalion, which had been sent out on harassing patrols against the advancing Questarian column’s right, reported 424 confirmed enemy armor kills without the loss of a single Kyton. 424 tanks! Multiple armored divisions, obliterated by a single tank battalion! And that was to say nothing of the hundreds more AFVs and APCs and other softer-skinned vehicles that had been picked off during their four hours of raiding the western flank on the column descending on Khalium. It was certainly an impressive baptism by fire for the Army’s newest weapon system.

But it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

Katsuhito winced at that. Even for all of the success of the Third Battalion, it was thus far the only success experienced thus far by the entire Army against the Questarians. Three massive columns were falling down upon Juumanistra and were largely unopposed. Shiijian would soon fall in the west and the defensive positions at Halrua were being evacuated and moved southwards as the regular Army and Chosan Home Guard concentrated further south. All that stood between the Questarians and the vast agricultural bounty of the Seronika was Katsuhito’s division and the 99th Corps, on the plains and steppe of Khalium.

Khalium had, for centuries, been great outpost of the north, a base for raiders and a refuge for the hounded. Jutting up some thousand meters above the surrounding plains, the flat-topped outcropping that would come to be known as Khalium was a natural site for fortification in amongst otherwise flat and featureless plains and salt flats. The rich soil to the south and west of the plateau of guaranteed food and, later, fuel, even when besieged from the north. While Khalium had not been a manned fortress for decades, it remained well fortified by dozens of projects over the centuries to turn it into an unbreechable obstacle in front of advancing armies from the north. And it was at the ancient fortified plateau of Khalium that Juumanistra would make her stand.

Tentatively called Operation Temerity, Katsuhito’s division sat on the far left wing of the line of defense. Temerity was an audacious plan designed to blunt and encircle the easternmost Questarian army group. An enlarged 99th Corps, buttressed by the 22nd Main Armor Division that had hurried across the country as 34th Corps withdrew from Halrua, would take up positions eight-to-twelve miles southwest and southeast of the plateau itself, leaving the frantic fortification and entrenchment of some three hundred new artillery pieces in addition to the 173 already at the plateau of Khalium to some 38,000 frantically called up and assembled Home Guardsmen. The main armor divisions, reinforced by a pair of Home Guard mechanized armor divisions, occupied the western half of the line; the mechanized infantry units held the eastern half. The battle plan was, in itself, fairly simple. The Questarian column was, in and of itself, a fairly simple contraption: Due to its massive size, it reasonably could do little more than barrel on ahead towards its objective, with Khalium sitting directly between it and the verdant agricultural heartland of the Seronika and, further southeast, Wellington and Sanumi. Thus, as the Questarian force careened into plateau of Khalium, which was the center of the Juuman line, the right and left would wrap around and slam into the Questarian flanks, pushing to break their rear and fully encircle the spearhead ahead at Khalium. The weight of the Juuman counterattack was on the left of the line, as that would be where the Questarian defenses would be weakest, as the great vale of the Del’Mundo receded into the steppe and plains of Khalium and the right of the Questarian line was now exposed without the cover of the great forest.

And General Katsuhito’s division would be the spearhead of Operation Temerity, as the time of the operation drew ever closer…

*=*=*=*=*

As the Army regained its feet and laid the groundwork for Operation Temerity, the rest of the armed forces geared up for the conflict. The Army began to lay plans for a broader, continent-wide counteroffensive, aimed at not just throwing the Questarians out of Juumanistra, but driving deep into Questaria itself. The Navy put to sea in earnest to avoid being caught at anchorage, as Juumanistra had done to Yurka, and the substantive resources of Coastal Command were put onto high alert: Soon enough, the waters over Juumanistra were buzzing with naval patrol aircraft, while the seas teamed with corvettes and electric submarines. Anti-aircraft sites, both cannon- and missile-based, came online across the country and Air Force patrols around potential targets redoubled in anticipation of further strikes.

The Air Force’s response to the conflict was to be the most destructive, however. The Air Force was the great guardian of Juumanistra’s huge and diverse interior: If the Army was tasked with fighting the war, it was the Air Force’s job to win it. As Questaria launched her wanton attack upon Juumanistra, the Air Force began to assemble a terrible armada to repay the Questarians for drawing the blood of her servicemen. Her first task was achieving and guaranteeing air superiority over Juumanistra proper: A truly gargantuan force of some 2,700 Na-24s and Ne-41s, assembled from 38 wings dispersed across central Juumanistra, took to the skies, fully armed and loaded for air-to-air combat. They had but one mission: Regain control of the skies above northern Juumanistra, once and for all. And they executed their assigned task with grim determination, methodically targeting and directing their fire at anything that dared broadcast a Questarian IFF.

The Air Force’s second priority was the obliteration of the oncoming Questarian deluge of men and material. For this, she scrambled hundreds of No-27 Rancors, the feared tank-killer of the Skiberdeenian conflict, and hundreds more of her unmanned twin, the Do-4. Several dozen of them had already started hammering the Questarian armed columns: Now they’d grow in numbers exponentially. But they’d need something orders of magnitude greater than close-air support aircraft in order to stem the tide of the Questarian advance. For that, the Air Force had the PGB.98 Molten Rain. The PGB.98 was a 1,000kg sensor-fused, submunition-dispensing weapon capable of raining molten copper down on 32 different targets across an area eighteen acres in size. A Ni-35 could carry four; a No-34, twelve; and a Ha-344, 35. A ground-support strike force was assembled: 436 Ni-35s, 324 No-34s, and 78 Ha-344s, combined deploying 8,372 PHB.98s. As they ascended skyward and northward, in waves with their support aircraft, they were about to bring down the unholy might of the Juumanistra upon the advancing Questarians…
MassPwnage
07-06-2006, 00:42
"Yet another random war? Great, just great. Umm.... yea, could you get me a coffee?" Pwnage Defense Secretary Marcel Han flipped cursorily through the file that had just been handed to him.

"But sir.... isn't that your assistant's job?"

Marcel looked up from his reading.

"I know you're an intelligence officer," he said, looking his Briefing Agent square in the eyes, "but if you don't get me a fucking cup of coffee within five minutes, I will kill you in a very painful and prolonged fashion."

"Yes sir." The Briefing Agent turned on his heel and walked out of Marcel's office. Marcel turned on his vidphone immediately. Maia Li, the Pwnage intelligence head, appeared on the screen.

"So, the war's finally happened... Now my question is why Juumanistra?" Marcel took a couple of extra glances at the file trying to find the answer in there.

"Marcel, to be honest, I just don't know. What I do know is that the circumstances surrounding Queen Clara's death are suspicious. As far as we can tell, her own security didn't seem to be around at all. I'm going to file this one under the 'Internal' file until we get some more answers." On the other side of the screen, Maia seemed visibly uncomfortable, something was bothering her.

"Good idea Maia. So what does our government do then?"

"Nothing, this isn't our war. Many will die, but at the end of the day, it's just a car accident on the road of life, and we're just rubberneckers. I'll have our foreign office issue some sort of condemnation or something. It's not like we're fans of Questers."

"Good, good. Oh... here comes my coffee."

Maia ran her tounge over her teeth, Marcel sipped from his cup. The coffee was your standard run of the mill crappy office roast.

"Think we could exploit the politcal situation in Questers for our politcal gain?"

"Look Marcel, the files regarding the investigation aren't exactly public access ,and the risk in trying to dig up information to blackmail King William with is too high. There's not much we can do here. I'll talk to the foreign office though, maybe we can get something good out of this."

"Alright then Maia. I'll call you if I need to talk to you." Marcel turned off the vid phone.

~*~*~
Foreign Affairs Secretary Gerald Redham sighed deeply. Yet another condemnation. Well, at least the Foreign Office had a messages branch for this sort of thing. How many random condemnations and other messages did those poor fuckers have to write per week? Probably thousands. Something good could come out of this though. This was a good opportunity to start relations with Juumanistra. In any case, the condemnation first.

~*~*~
From: MassPwnage
To: The World At Large
Re: Questers.

Well, we're not being paid by the word for this condemnation, so we're going to keep it brief. The Questarian government has no grounds for attacking Juumanistra. They can do so anyway, we're not going to stop them, but they really have established themselves as a group of warmongers and a threat to international stability. Also, we would wish to note that we actually didn't use the f-word in this message.

~*~*~
From: Gerald Redham, Pwnage Foreign Minister
To: Juumanistra
Re: Questers.

If this isn't what you're looking for, I'll be as brief as my messages department. Anyway, you don't like Questers and we don't like Questers. I think that if our nations establish relations with each other, it would be a boon to both of us, and a detriment to Questers and other mutual enemies we might possess. Of course, the entrepeneurs in our nations might benefit as well.

Sincerely,
The MassPwnage Foreign Office.
Sarzonia
09-06-2006, 05:40
"Mike, it's 2:17 in the morning!"

"I can see the clock dipshit. I want everyone in the Cabinet room by 2:30 or heads are going to fucking role. Capisce?"

"Yes sir!"

Sarzo took a quick glance in the mirror, realising that he could use a shave but right now wasn't the time for small details. Especially one he hated as much as shaving. Now was the time to take action. Even though what form that action would take was anything but obvious to his sleep-deprived mind.

He walked toward the situation room working out the scenario in his head. A declaration of total war against Juumanistra that just came out of nowhere, at least as far as Sarzonia's intelligence community was concerned was the only thing Sarzo was certain of as the closed doors to the room began closing in with the weight of expectation that was on Sarzo's slender shoulders.

He would have to do something. But what?

Finally, the door opened and a small boatswain's whistle blew.

"All rise." Sarzo gave a quick scowl until he spotted the dress uniforms that pocketed the situation room with the suits and ties. He slowly drew in breath through his nostrils and exhaled slowly.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Sarzo began. "Let's get right to the point. The United Kingdom of Questers has declared total war on Juumanistra. Do we have any shred of evidence for what the hell led to this?"

"Mr. President, we're getting speculation from some of our consulates that Queen Clara was assassinated and they're blaming it on Juumanistra."

"With all due respect Mr. Clayton, we know that already," Sarzo said, barely disguising his disgust and disappointment for 'intelligence' that could have been acquired through a standard Questarian news outlet. "What do we know are the motives behind this declaration of war?"

"Mr. President, the Questarians have been surprisingly ... reticent when we've asked them questions about the investigation and about the events that led to King William VI's ascention to the throne," Clayton replied with a tone that told the President he was irritated with the dressing down in front of the Cabinet.

"Meaning," Sarzo asked, annoyed that Clayton wasn't getting to the point quickly enough for his tastes but intrigued at the sliver of evidence he was getting.

"As a Commonwealth member, their intel community has shared information with us fairly reliably ever since we joined the Commonwealth," Clayton said. "We asked them point blank what happened and they continued to recite the party line."

"The party line," Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis asked. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Madame Lieutenant President," Clayton said, "they have repeated the same talking points they issued from the beginning of the crisis. Even when we reminded them they were repeating themselves and we needed more to go on than what they told us. They accused us of being too weak-kneed to support them. Our guys didn't wait to hear the rest."

"Just what are their talking points," Vice President for Defence John Newman asked.

"John, you've seen them," Vice President for Naval Operations Kathy Bunhall said. "It's the same sort of shit that gets countries into war quicker than you can say "red alert."

"What are our options," Sarzo asked. "We need to do something, clearly."

"What can we do, Mike," Newman asked. "And why do we need to be the nation to do it?"

"Who do you think is going to get Questers in line, Praetonia," Bunhall asked. "They're in bed with Questers too, remember."

"We are not getting into a Praetonia bashing contest here," Sarzo said. "Praetonia does not blindly support anyone. Period."

"Are you so sure Mike?"

"Katherine Jane Bunhall, listen to me for one motherfucking second," Sarzo snapped. "When I say we're not getting into a Praetonia bashing contest, I mean it. One more word like that about Praetonia and you'll be escorted out of here and your shit will be on the Gray House lawn first thing in the morning." Sarzo punctuated that with one of the angriest looks he'd given since the war. Bunhall opened her mouth in a brief spate of enraged defiance, but thought the better of it and sat down.

"I need options. Otherwise, what I'm going to do is march into the press room and announce Sarzonia's withdrawal from the Questarian commonwealth as of now. Then, I'm going to ask DoD to give me estimates for how quickly we can get an army group into combat theatre. And I want target coordinates for our Godrods."

"What do you mean? Juumanistra?"

"No," Sarzo said. "Questers."

"What are you suggesting? Invading Questers?"

"No," Sarzo said. "I'm going to keep all our options on the table. If someone wants to draw that parallel, we're certainly not going to give them reason to doubt we don't have that in the back of our minds."

"But Mr. President!"

"Do you have any other ideas? If so, I'd love to hear them." Sarzo waited for a few beats, wanting someone to come up with an idea that would be more viable than an invasion.

"Hearing none," Sarzo said. "I've got a speech to make." He turned and walked briskly out of the situation room toward the press room and toward the next turn in Sarzo-Questarian relations.
Demon 666
09-06-2006, 05:49
Tenarius sat in his cabinet as his advisors bustled.
"Now what seems to have happened."
"Lately, the queen of Questers was assinated. The new king has responded by declaring war on Juumanstria.
Juumanstria, while not Communist, is a leftist government. However, the Imperial Intelligence Service has no evidence that Juumanstria actually did it, and Questers has not supplied any solid info."
"Very well."
Secret Telegram
From: Emperor Tenarius of the Imperial Empire of Demon 666
To: The King of Questers
Your Majesty, the Empire is in full accordance with your plans to defeat the Juumanstrian people.
While we do not believe in risking war, we are prepared to loan 40 million dinaris and will provide the latest in Imperial Air Force Technology.
Naturally, this will be paid back.
We hope that the acciquisition is accepted.
Edvardus
09-06-2006, 05:51
Your Royal Highness:

It is with deep sadness that I am writing to you today concerning the passing of Her Royal Highness, the late Queen Claratina II. I send the condolences of His Imperial Highness, Emperor Julius IV. Unfortunately, he could not make it to her memorial service due to his illness at the time.

It has also come to my attention that your intelligence thinks that the Communist regime of your neighbouring nation may be behind this assassination. The Emperor is ready to send non-military aid in the event that it should be necessary.

Best Regards,

Zorion de Silva
Prime Minister of the Holy Empire of Edvardus
Questers
09-06-2006, 18:11
[OOC: Um, Juumanistra's government is definetly not Communist, hell, it's not even leftist. I'm writing a reply for him + SEA + MP atm, but don't expect anything from the Questarian government, because it really doesn't care what anyone below 3 billion population thinks.]
Questers
10-06-2006, 01:23
HMS Rodney, Port Hood

Admiral Riew quickly strolled down the corridor at a fast walk, pushing the sliding door open and entering the conference room. Sitting down, he leant back and took a gulp from a glass of water. The admirals and navy planners sat around the long table nodded and waved, and Riew returned the favour. The Rodney, capital ship of the Home Fleet, was fully kitted for this kind of meeting. Riew was slightly embarrased - as Captain of the ship he should have been there first. Never matter, he was very busy that night and he slept in late. Being the Admiral of the Homefleet of the largest navy in the world when it was in a state of total war wasn't easy on the stress levels, you know?

'Welcome, Admiral Riew.'

The Commissariat Strategic Planner who was presenting the conference gave Riew a piercing look. The Commissariat knew everything. Hey, it wasn't like he was married or anything.

'Note down that Admiral Riew has arrived three minutes, thirty four seconds, and eight milliseconds late. Yes, of course it's neccessary.' He told the scribe who was recording the conference and writing it all down. The scribe muttered something, and the CSP replied angrily.

'Don't argue with me you lazy prole. Get it done, now.'

The Admirals looked sympathetically towards the scribe. It wasn't his fault...

'This is the command brief.' The CSP looked sternly on the ten captains and their attached planners. His suit was immaculate, the pips of the Commissariat aligned just right and his hair was cut short, the cap resting on it perfectly. 'The Juumanistran devils are being flattened by our armoured assault, and naturally the cowards are falling back in full force. By the grace of the Emperor, our tanks are rolling over the Communists as we speak.'
the CSP cracked a smile, flicking on the projector.

'As you can see here, the Juumanistran Navy has put to sea to try to attempt a defensive action. Reports of civilian trawlers and traders being captured and executed are widespread. Nevertheless, the enemy is highly outnumbered. Pests.'

The CSP gave a glance at the scribe.

'You have two orders. First, is to halt the enemy's naval offensive. They must, at all costs, be denied and smashed. Second, is to capture islands on the coast of Juumanistra to use for air support to our glorious Army. Your six battlegroup strong fleet will set for sea in the following week, and you will hunt and destroy any major Juumanistran battle group. We must purge the Communists from this region. We must destroy their immoral-' the CSP gave a look towards Fiew, who returned the stab - 'nation, for by the Grace of the Emperor we have been granted this Navy.

Commissariat Planning Conference Over. Any questions?'

Frontline

Taylor may have been a General of an idiotic operation, but he was not an idiot himself. Hitching a ride in a second tank, he had planned the entire assault. Despite lack of any air cover, his force had done fairly well. And now they were advancing upon what appeared on his tactical map as Khalium. It was a venerable fortress, from what intelligence had told him. Tapping his radio, finally getting a signal, he began to communicate with his scouts in the field.

‘Papa Bear One to Foxtrot Oscar India One One, do you receive, over?’

A crackled reply came through the radio.

‘Papa Bear One, this is Foxtrot Oscar India One One, we read you loud and clear, over.’

‘Roger that Foxtrot India Oscar One One. Do you have visual on the enemy citadel?’

A brief pause and a whispered reply.

‘Papa Bear One, Foxtrot India Oscar One Four has visual, range from target to your location is 92 kilometres, over.’

Taylor paused for a moment, pondering upon his decision, and eventually agreed with himself to follow a previous course of action.

‘Foxtrot India Oscar One Four, keep your company out of sight of the enemy and hold your position, report any irregularities and give me a general report of the enemy status every hour, over.’

Taylor received his affirmative and slammed the radio down, bringing up his strategic map. On the left hand side the push was slowing down; although towns had been captured, their populaces forced out to survive on their own. Trucks towing artillery had finally been mustered and were being brought to the front, and along 300km of the western push troops were digging in their trenches.

Just off the Border

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;

More and more recruits, raw as uncooked beef were being sent to the frontlines via long lines of trucks. And this is where Mark Tattleham was now. His truck, carrying thirty two men, was speeding across the deserted saltlands like cattle trying to escape from a predator, and that was exactly what was happening. They had just set off, and Mark had little sleep; the train to his loading zone was rather noisy, and he was just about to drift off when the truck left the safezone of the giant anti air grid on the border.

‘Holy shit.’ One of the soldiers stood up and looked out over the machine gun cupola of the open truck, and began to tremble. In the distance, giant streams of smoke were lifting themselves up into the heavens. Fire and brimstone raged in the horizon that was getting ever closer, the line of ragtag halftracks, trucks, and APCs that extended up to the horizon ever changing as vehicles at the front were being extinguished by ground attack planes, helicopters, and UCAVs.

‘SIT DOWN!’ the Commissariat officer assigned to that platoon shouted.

‘Jesus Christ!’ another stood up and looked out into the distance, rifle slung over his shoulder.

‘SIT DOWN! NOW!’ The commissariat pulled a revolver from his coat, and standing on top of the cupola, greatcoat flapping in the saltland’s merciless winds, pulled the cock back. The soldiers noticed this and soon quietened down – but there was still discontent among the troops. Several minutes later and the screams of aircraft could be heard overhead and the explosions could be heard crumpling in the distance. After minutes of silence, the Commissar stood up and coughed, pulling a piece of paper from his greatcoat. The troops in other trucks were getting the same treatment, though they couldn’t make out anything the other officers, sergeants, and even corporals were saying over the background sounds of the convoy line.

‘Soldiers of the Glorious Questarian Empire! You are about to go into battle with an enemy so foul that even Satan himself has refused entry to the deepest parts of Hell to Juumanistran soldiers. Reports are coming in that Juumanistran air assets have used biological and chemical weapons against border towns. Thousands of civilians have died. As such, our Glorious Emperor, granted to us by the Grace of God Himself, has declared Declaration 1:44. This is what the Emperor himself has broadcast to every soldier in the field.’ The Commissar coughed again.

‘Glorious soldiers of the Empire. Wherever you are, whether at sea, in the air, or fighting the Juumanistran devils on land, let it be known that God is watching you wherever you go. It is the will of God – and my will, that if you are under fire – do not surrender or retreat. Advance in the face of danger and the Hand of God shall guide you to destroy the Communists. With the strength of our mighty armed forces, His divine hammer of judgement rides alongside you today to smash the enemy.’

Mark looked over the Commissars shoulder and could see the convoy approaching the warzone. Smoke was choking the sky, making those about to enter it cough fiercely. Destroyed vehicles littered as far as the eye could see; burnt out tanks, trucks turned upside down, armoured cars with giant holes in the side. Smoke drifted across his vision and for a moment the Commissar disappeared under the black clouds. Planes shrieked overhead and the truck was rocked as the speech continued.

‘The land that you are treading on now is sacred Questarian land, stolen from us many years ago!’ another explosion from a dumb bomb rocked the truck and explosion next to Mark resulted in screams and the APC exploding violently. Poor bastards, didn’t stand a chance. ‘Advance, soldiers of the Empire, and crush any that oppose you! Remember, not one step backwards!’ the Commissar screamed as a whistle pierced the sky, another bomb slamming down on a truck nearby and quickly destroying it. Flaming debris scattered across the battered road. ‘FOR FREEDOM, FOR THE MOTHERLAND, FOR GLORY, FOR VICTORY! DEATH TO THE ENEMY!’ the Commissar roared before he was vapourised. The truck flew into the air, and Mark was tossed out. Time seemed to stop, and he thought he had died. Fire filled the skies and he was tossed in the air again as an explosion ripped the truck apart. He landed on the floor with a thud and then blacked out.

After what seemed hours, Mark awoke to the familiar sound of explosions, screams, and the cough of smoke.

‘Quick! Get him clear!’ The also familiar voice of the Commissar was the first voice he heard. Hands tugging… pulling… another explosion, blacked out again. Ten minutes? An hour? Two hours? Who knew. Mark woke again, and he was lying on the floor on a stretcher. ‘Ugh..’ he tried to move, to say something.

‘Ah, this ones awake.’ A medic looked over the twenty year old. ‘Mark.. Tattleham. Oh, I see.’ The medic smiled. ‘You’re alright. Unfortunately, the rest of your platoon are not. Don’t worry; you’re off back home soon. I hope its easy being a hero.’

‘Where..’

‘Ah. This is medical stop six. Sorry, one to five are full; it’ll be a while til we can ship you back. Until then, just try get some rest. Maybe I’ll be able to get-‘

The rest of the medics sentence was cut off by the sound of a Juumanistran aircraft flying low and the subsequent flak that covered the sky whenever that familiar whooshing sound was heard. In the newspapers, casualties were minimal. The enemy was being beaten, smashed, destroyed. Annihalated . At Mount Highdon, casualties were gaining into the hundreds of thousands.

High command did not look forward to the third day.

HMS Rodney

She locked her arms around him and kissed him passionately, deeply. Pulling off, Riew resisted. ‘There’s a war on, I don’t think…’

‘Fuck the war.’

Meh, Riew thought. He wasn’t arguing as she guided his hand to –

‘Sir?’ a rapping on the door.

Fuck. Riew opened his eyes and sighed.

‘Hold on Ensign.’

Ensign Fujikoto sighed and knocked on the door again. Why did he even bother to hide it? Everyone knew what he did. Better than sodomy, Fujikoto guessed. At least it wasn’t against the law. Riew splashed some water on his face and left his room like it was – noone was going in there, and the Ensign probably wanted something urgently.

‘Yes, Ensign?’

‘The Nelson is signalling her arrival at Port Hood.’ Fujikoto stated. ‘There is a message for you on the bridge.’ He finished.

‘Oh, okay then.’ Riew nodded and did up his top button, tossing a tissue into a nearby waste paper bin. He should look respectful when he was on the bridge, at least. The thirty year old Admiral was resented by a large number of the other Admirals – achieving his rank at least fifteen years before they did. He was popular with the men, however, and he inspired loyalty without any of that religious bollocks. Saluting men left and right as he made his way to the bridge behind Fujikoto, pulling on his trademark boonie hat, the ace of spades tucked neatly in the side. Reaching the bridge, the cry of ‘Captain on deck!’ was called and the crew turned to salute, to which Riew disdained.

‘Enough of that formal bollocks, lads. What do you have in store for me today?’ he sat down on the Admirals chair, spinning around, until he noticed the Commissariat Naval Assistant standing smartly on the side.

‘It is against Naval regulations not to salute a superior officer, Fleet Admiral.’ The CNA informed Riew, his robotlike voice cracking.

‘Yes, and they did salute, didn’t they?’ Riew looked back at the CNA. ‘You may be the CNA here, but I’m the CNO. What I say goes, capiche?’

The CNA looked at Riew, boring straight through his face. He could tell there was going to be a conflict here.
Sarzonia
12-06-2006, 05:04
Sarzo waited out the waning seconds before his image would be beamed to billions of Sarzonians and hundreds of billions of people worldwide. Instead of the usual days or even hours to plan a strategy for dealing with yet another world crisis, he had seconds. That's right: Seconds.

He wasn't sure as the countdown reached the single digits what the hell he'd end up saying. He had almost literally no time to prepare a speech. Whatever he ended up saying, he'd wing it.

Finally, a shrill "and... ACTION" pierced the air, putting Sarzo on the spot. Even though Sarzo felt the desperation of a college student who had to give a speech with zero time to prepare, he had no choice.

"My fellow Sarzonians, citizens of the world community," he began. "We have witnessed a dual tragedy as it relates to the Questarian commonwealth. The first one is obvious. The assassination of Queen Clara II has brought a community of nations together in grief and has united factions in mourning.

"However, the second tragedy is arguably far worse. The second tragedy has seen Questers enter into a state of war with Juumanistra, claiming that Juumanistra was behind a deliberate assassination attempt before a full investigation has run its course. Rather than conduct themselves with needed restraint, the government and military of Questers has behaved irresponsibly and has risked the losses of billions of lives."

Sarzo's eyebrows scrunched, his face and eyes hardened, and he glared into the camera. His next words would determine the course of Sarzonia's future relations with Questers and it would demonstrate to the world how Sarzonia treated a longtime ally gone rogue.

"The Incorporated Sarzonian Government can no longer stand idly by whilst a nation it has called friend and ally continues to sully its reputation and threaten to drag us down with it. We can no longer countenance the behaviours that have turned an honourable government and a proud people into a government run by madmen. To demonstrate to the world our extreme displeasure with the Questarian government, I am announcing three steps.

"Step one: I am asking the House of Delegates to ratify Sarzonia's withdrawal from the Questarian commonwealth and make the effective date of our withdrawal 48 hours after ratification. The Incorporated Sarzonian Government has long prided itself on choosing alliances carefully. We are highly disappointed that our confidence and our trust in our Questarian brethren have been so poorly placed.

"Step two: I am recalling all Sarzonian diplomatic and consular staffs from Questarian territories. All Sarzonian diplomatic and consular staffs and all civilians must depart Questarian territory within 72 hours or face sanction from the Sarzonian government. In addition, I am directing all Questarian diplomatic, consular, and military assets currently in Sarzonia and her territories to depart within 72 hours or face detention.

"Step three: I am dispatching the Third, Fourth, and Sixth Fleets to international waters outside Juumanistran territory to ensure that both sides adhere to international law and ensure that neutral rights are respected and enforced. I am also sending the Second, Fifth, and Seventh Fleets to international waters outside Questarian territory to conduct neutrality patrols.

"We come in peace and we wish to ensure that this senseless war does not claim more lives than it already has. We have not declared ourselves hostile to either side and we advise both sides that if either side fires upon one of our ships, aircraft, or personnel, Sarzonia will consider the same as an act of war and will respond appropriately."

"And cut!"

Sarzo didn't even wait to exhale before he picked up the phone and called Newman.

"John, have you got me target coordinates?"

"For what?"

"Tungsten rod strikes against Questarian military assets."

"Mike, you don't mean we're declaring war on Questers. Do you?"

"No John, I'm not," Sarzo said. "However, I want to make sure that we've got every base covered. And I want to be sure that if we need to, we can make an immediate statement about just how displeased we are."

"Mr. President?"

"Yes, Becky?"

"I just got off the phone with the House. They ratified the withdrawal from the Commonwealth."

"What was the vote?"

"I'm looking at it now ... it's ... wow ... it's 388 to 172. Not even close."

Somehow, that bore little comfort to the man sitting in his office in the Gray House. But then again, when where world events comfortable?
Questers
17-06-2006, 21:25
The Second Day (three days ago) HMS Rodney, outside Port Hood

'Admiral Riew sah, receiving telegraph from the Hood.'

Riew nodded, they had been practicing for the last two days, swapping flags and such. He had a good knowledge of how Hood worked, and though it wasn't much different to Rodney, Hood had a stronger anti air defence having recently being refitted with more CIWS and light cannons. He had had little time to reflect on what was actually happening - according to secret reports that Fleet Admiral Ferguson was leaking to his peers, thousands of soldiers were dying every hour on the front. It was up to the Navy to sort those landlubbing buggers out.

'OK, very good Ensign.'

Riew stretched his arms and leant back on the ships command chair as the fax slowly chugged out of the little box they called a Telegraph Fax Communication Transmitter. [TFCT, Tefect, or Twat-fect, as the technicians had nicknamed it, due to its tendency not to work, like, ever.] Slowly ripping it from its container, Riew immediately had a thought.

'They could be tapping this.'

Unfortunately, he said it aloud, much to the distate of the Commisariat Officer onboard.

'Admiral Riew, it is highly unlikely the Communists have the technology to tap or hack our highly advanced communication systems.'

'You mean a bloody fax machine?'

The Commissariat officer frowned and said no more, and Riew realised that as soon as they entered combat this propaganda-machine was going to be a hindrance. He coughed and read over the fax, crumpling it up and chucking it in a nearby waste paper basket.

'Ensign, unfurl our jacks. Bring this party out of port, and a little music, if you don't mind.'

'Yes sah. What music, sah?'

'I don't know... try something... grand. How about Jerusalem?'

~

'Cmon lad! Throw her over!'

'I can't, I can't!'

Will was thirteen, and he was about to raise the jackstaff White Ensign off one of the largest ships in the world. The job required to pull on a string while winding a winch. The string would be kept taught while the winch raised the giant 10x15m White Ensign into place, fluttering above the stern of the mighty Rodney. For the stern crew, it was a ritual, a rite of passing, to raise the White Ensign. Shouts of 'Cmon!' and 'You can do it lad!' from the stern crew. Will struggled to pull the string and the winch at the same time, but he pushed hard and suddenly the boy sprung in the air, being winched up the jackstaff with the flag and its string. Before he knew it, he was hanging 30 metres over the freeboard of HMS Rodney! About three hundred people were looking at him from the various stern equipments, from port windows to aircrew lined up on the six different ramps. Now he looked really stupid.

The Fifth Day, Mount Highdon

William burst through the teak doors of the giant command room, pushing aside the guard who tried to block him. The Imperial General Staff; the commanders around the tactical table in the centre of the giant, hollowed out command room, surrounded by RADAR screens, GPS maps, tactical and strategic calculations, and ever changing lists of casualties and supplies, looked around to see the King at the door, fuming.

‘Your Majesty..’ The Chief of the General Staff, Grand Field Marshall Peak, began, but he was cut off before he could finish.

‘WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?’ William screamed at the top of his voice, turning red. No doubt many of the people in the room imagined smoke pouring out of his ears.

‘Your Majesty, I’m not sure wha-‘ Peak began to reply humbly, but again he was cut off.

‘Who is responsible for this action, Field Marshall?’

‘What action, Your Majesty?’ Peak was genuinely confused.

‘You know what the bloody hell I’m talking about. Why has our advance stopped?’ Williams walked up to Peak, staring him right in the face, who kept calm.

‘The advance has stopped becau’

‘Field Marshall.’ Williams began to walk in circles around Peak, who kept still and looked dead ahead. ‘I have given you everything we have available. Tanks, men, money, planes, and you stop our advance a hundred miles in? Remind me what your objectives where?’

‘Your Majesty, this is a typical strategi’

‘WHAT ARE YOUR OBJECTIVES?’ William bellowed.

‘To advance one thousand miles into Juumanistra and take all major assets for the Crown, Your Majesty.’

‘Damn right. And why have we stopped a tenth into our goal?’ there was deadly silence except the humming of computers and the grating of Williams teeth.

‘Your Majesty, this is a typical strategic manoeuvre. We have come up against a strategical speedbump, and as such we are digging in to bombard it. If I moved one corp up and kept one still, that would completely halt our battle pla’ Peak explained calmly.

‘AND IT HASN’T ALREADY?’ William again, over reacted. ‘Why have you not used the London guns to silence this… speedbump?’ William inquired, still enraged.

‘If we fired those guns, they’d pop up on every satellite in the world. If we keep them hidden as they are, we can use them for later when he really need to.’

‘They’re camouflaged, aren’t they?’ the King asked.

‘Yes Sire, but’

‘BUT NOTHING. YOU WILL FIRE THOSE GUNS, UNDERSTOOD?’

Peak’s eyebrows pressed downwards. He was seething inside.

‘No, Your Majesty. Just give us time, we can level that place and save the artillery for’

Crack.

William had pulled out his handgun and promptly shot Peak in the back. The crimson blood quickly grew like a stain, spreading across the immaculate uniform of Grand Field Marshall Peak. The bullet snapped straight through his spine and hit the heart of the Field Marshall. In the split second he had to respond, Peak reached for his scabbard and the traditional Grand Field Marshall sword inside it, but William pulled the trigger again, and again, two more rounds slamming into Peak’s back. The Field Marshall dropped to the floor, head smacking against the cold marble of the Command Room. He died like a Questarian General should, with his hand on his sword and his country in his heart.

The Imperial General Staff were shocked. Their Commander in Chief had just been killed by the King himself. What the hell was going on?

‘So.’ William said, leaning over Peak’s body and the blood that was staining the floor. ‘Who wants this?’ he pulled the sword out of the scabbard and walked up to the line of General Staff. They were silent. ‘WHO?’ William shouted.

‘Since I was second in command…’ General Tucker began.

‘You want it, do you?’ William sneered.

‘It would be the logical course of action, Your Majesty.’

‘Well then.’ William drove the sword straight through Tucker’s chest, spinning it and pulling down, cracking ribs and slicing organs. Internal bleeding was immediate, and Tucker collapsed, choking, as William withdrew the sword, blood dripping and staining the once proud blade that had backstabbed its comrades unwillingly.

‘I will not have insubordination in this Command.’ William began. The General Staff were shaking. He could pick any one of them and kill them at random. ‘Furthermore, I will not accept anyone who wants to further their own career over the war effort. Is that understood?’

‘Yes SIR.’ The General Staff jumped to attention and saluted, the first time in many years for them.

‘You.’ William pointed to Lieutenant General Peter Brooke.

‘Y-Y-Y-Yes Your Majesty?’ Peter was scared as hell. Was he going to die? Was William going to purge the entire High Command?

‘Come here.’

Brooke obeyed, and stepped, slightly wobbly, towards the King. He was shaking visibly, and stood to attention half a metre in front of the King.

‘Take this.’ Peter was pleasantly surprised when the King offered him the sword. ‘Just remember your duties. And remember, get those London guns firing.’

The Fifth Day, 320 miles south of London, abandoned quarry

‘Yes. Acknowledged. Will engage ASAP. God Save the King, over.’

Wood hung the phone up, and nodded the Master Gunner.

‘The guns are ready?’

‘Aye sir. Coordinates?’

Major General Wood handed the Master Gunner a sheet of faxed coordinates, and a map – on the map, a little X marked the spot.

Khalium.

Wood sighed. The four London guns, massive guns with a bore of 4 metres and 50 calibres in length, where the largest artillery ever made in Questers. They were constructed on giant turntables which took an entire day to turn 360 degrees, and had their own mini nuclear power plants for the purpose of raising and lowering the guns which were built in absolutely massive casemates. They had a range that, although was huge, was best used defensively, as Peak had suggested. Admittedly, they did chuck a projectile worth 40 tons of high explosive, so they would be at least some use by the time the war was over.

‘Master Gunner Corpheart?’

‘Aye sir?’

‘How long until we have a firing solution?’ Wood asked, looking down from the command post built into the side of the quarry like a bunker.

‘Three hours, sir.’

‘Very good.’

~

Finally, the guns had rotated and elevated, their firing solution ready. Wood slammed down the alarm, which sent all the crew running to the nearest soundproofed bunker. Within two minutes, everyone was buttoned down, and the guns were remotely activated.

It was an amazing sight. The giant plume of smoke that shot from the end of the muzzle, slowly drifting into the air, could easily have been mistaken to be a small power plant, except for the roar of the guns, which were heard from cars on the horizon from the base. A small shake, like the detonation of a small atomic weapon, came from the firing. The shells flew through the air, marking small ICBMs on any ultra-sensitive device, and came smacking down on Khalium. It took a fairly long time to reload these guns; 15 minutes per shell, but it would be ages until the Juumanistrans could assign aircraft to bomb the location, so another ten volleys followed before the guns were retired due to barrel issues.

HMS Hood, the Sixth Day, 7,000 nm from Port Hood

The battlefleet was gigantic, ships towering down from the five supercapitals that formed the main offensive blade, like a pyramid, from battleships to carriers to cruisers to frigates and motor launches, to air superiority CAP craft and ASW HELOs.

But, not all was going well onboard the Hood. Internal troubles had been rife since she had left port, and Master Systems Engineer Roberts had been assigned to look over the malfunctioning air search RADAR. It wasn’t kept in a radome – instead, inside a thin part of the mainmast which contained all the electronics. The RADAR was on the fritz, but he was just waiting for the special electronics gear to arrive from down below, then it would be fine. After twenty minutes of waiting, the electronics man arrived.

‘Hey.’ Roberts nodded, as he opened the door into the RADAR command and maintenance room.

‘Afternoon.’ The Engineer replied, and stepping forwards he tripped over a wire, pulling the socket from the wall. K’tschoosh. All the lights on the monitoring computers went off, and Roberts and the Engineer sighed.

‘Wait, what the hell is that?’

Roberts turned around to see one of the monitoring computers steaming, red lights flashing. RADAR FAILURE IMMINENT.

‘Shit.’

A millisecond later, a giant electric crackle resounded from the mast the air search RADAR was being kept in, and two RADAR officers screens went dead.

~

‘Admiral Riew?’

‘Aye sir.’ Riew replied, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head, looking up at the vis screen at an extremely annoyed Grand Admiral of the Fleet Foster.

‘Get you arse over to Hood now. I’m transferring my flag to Rodney, you take Hood back home to get her RADAR dealt with.’

‘Er, Sir.’ Riew raised his eyebrows.

‘What?’ Foster replied, irritably, expecting some smartass comment by Riew, who he disliked immensely.

‘The ‘insecure’ light is flashing. I don’t think you-‘

‘Oh shutup, Riew. Haul arse over here now.’

~

The two admirals passed each other on the motor launches across the two ships, RN ensigns flapping off both little powerboats. Riew quickly arrived at the Hood, unpacking his things and making his way to the bridge to make the order to turn, which she did. Over a thousand ship sped up, slowed down, and changed course to allow Hood’s 18 kilometre tactical turn to take place, which again it did, and Hood slinked away from the main fleet unescorted towards Port Hood for repairs.

The Sixth Day, RAF Softmore, 90 miles behind the border

The last Sparrowhawk landed at Softmore, touching down on the warm tarmac slowly, taxiing around to stop on the side of the runway, the pilot jumping out of the plane eagerly as its tailfins unfolded from the flight position. Jogging over to the briefing room, Pilot Jake Chotterly sat down next to a wingmate. The ten squadrons assembled at Softmore, 620-630, had just flown in from aircraft carriers to support the landings.

‘Pilots.’ Air Marshall Brown began.

‘You have just arrived at RAF Softmore to support our troops on the ground, fighting the devils that threaten the peace. You will be here until sufficient pilots and aircraft arrive to relieve you. That could be months.

Now I’m warning you, this isn’t an easy theatre. Almost all our air assets have been obliterated, and you, as well as the twenty other squadrons at Dalewhich and Whistledam are the only thing standing between the Juumanistrans and your wives, children, and husbands back home. Victory here will be hard. You are outnumbered, probably out-planed too, and you’re out trained. But there’s one thing that the Juumanistrans don’t have that you do.

Questarian steel! Our tenacity, our bravery, our courage is what will let us win the war in the air. Intelligence has already gathered information which shows that the Juumanistrans are preparing to bomb civilian centres. With you in the way, that will be impossible.

There will be hard times ahead. Some of you, nay, most of you will not survive to see the end of this war. But you are fighting so your family, your children, your grandchildren, your great grand children will grow up in a world without war, a world of freedom. You are fighting so they will never have to see, or witness what you will. When they ask you whether you fought in the war, whether you played your part, you will answer them with pride that you were a pilot in the Royal Air Force and you fought in Quester’s darkest days.

Let me read you an excerpt from the letters of Flight Lieutenant Jacob Manley, the day before he crashed his Spitfire into a column of Juumanistran trucks.

Dear Martha,

Tommorow I am probably going to die. The enemy has complete victory in the skies, our air assault has been crushed. Many pilots have been shot for insubordination, but with pride I can tell you that I am part of the last line of defence in the air. In two hours, the last sortie from RAF Softmore will leave. By the time you receive this letter, I will be dead. In time, I am sure you will forget me. In time, I am sure you will remarry. But make sure you bring our Jimmy up knowing what his father did. Make sure he knows why I died and what I died for. Make sure he knows that I went to war because I would not let the Juumans tell us what to do. Make sure he is proud of me, because I am proud of him, and Martha, I am proud of you.

Your loving husband,
Jacob’

Tears were welling up in Brown’s eyes.

‘Your Squadron leaders will organise you into groups, set you patrols. Be vigilant. Be ready. Do not be merciful.’
Praetonia
17-06-2006, 22:35
"And how many d'you say this one will produce?" Asked the King, waving his stick vaguely in the direction of the vast factory that loomed over him. Smoke poured from its high, steel chimneys and further down the valley this smoke was enough to block out the sun when every factory was working at its maximum. The valley was unlikely to see the sun for some time.

"Two thousand planes each year, Your Majesty. We're working as fast as we can to get the factories retooled for the war effort!" And it wasn't even his war effort.

"Good," said the King, "Excellent!" He smiled, benevolently. A crowd of workers had assembled now, although they kept a respectful distance where they were gazed at suspiciously by the King's ceremonial bodyguard. "What you're all doing here is vital work. Your efforts on behalf of our friends and allies shall never be forgotten. With the dedication I've seen at this complex, I have no doubt that the first planes will be defending the skies of Questers by Christmas. Do you think you can do it?"

The workers cheered, both out of genuine respect for their Sovereign and the new found passion for their work. Previously, they had simply been pumping out Hussars to stock the carrier decks of the IPN. Necessary and well-paid, true, but hum-drum. Now they truly felt as if they were contributing to something greater.

The factory manager, a portly 50-something man in a black suit and wastecoat smiled. "My lads won't let you down, Your Majesty. A year's extra salary for the first work crew to finish a plane!" He shouted the last sentence, addressing it to the workers, who let out another cheer.

"Let me show you the primary assembly floor," he continued, beckoning the King to follow him into the huge red-brick building. It seemed amazing the thing could stand under its own weight.

The two men walked through a door in the side of the building, followed by the King's bodyguards and waved off by the smiling workers. They would have something to tell their grandchildren.

"This is where we build the engines, Your Majesty" the manager indicated the whole, massive floor space with a sweep of his hand. It was easily the size of a football stadium, and the glimses through the doors in the other walls showed that it was by no means the entire building. Crews busied themselves with assembling parts into turbojets for Sparrowhawks they were building for the Questerians. Under the din of the work and unable to see far past all the machinery in the huge building, most of the workers had not even noticed the Monarch's entry.

"Incredible!" The King seemed genuinely awe-struck.

The portly manager let out a boyish grin. "Do you want to see one being tested, Your Majesty?" The King nodded enthusiastically, and the beckoned for the manager to lead on. They walked up a flight of stairs and across gangways that spanned the length of the workspace. Factories floors such as this were stacked four-deep in this building, with four on each floor, and another eight buildings such as this in the complex. And this was but one of Imperial Aviation's manufacturing complexes.

"The testing bay, Your Majesty." He indicated a thick steel door. "I'm afraid you'll have to put some ear-guards before we go in... the sound in there is loud enough to deafen a man!" The manager laughed. The King smiled, warmly, and took a pair of yellow plastic ear-guards from an attendant.

The manager pushed open the door, and an incredible sight came into view. A huge engine, already revved up to full power, was being examined by quality control officers from behind an extremely thick polycarbonate viewing gallery. The engine was also being monitored from panels displaying readouts from instruments on the engine itself, and cameras inside the testing bay that were unaffected by the large diffraction that occured from looking through the thick plastic screen. But that was not all. Bays such as this stretched seemingly as far as the eye could see - at least fifteen.

"Very impressive. Very impressive, indeed!" The King did seem genuinely impressed. "When will the first shipment be ready to be dispatched to Questers?"

"From this plant, two months, Your Majesty. Across the entire company, the first shipment should be made tomorrow. I hear they're already loading planes onto ships, Your Majesty."

"And how many planes are we sending?"

"The shipment leaving tomorrow - three hundred. For the whole of this month, we should be shipping over a thousand, Your Majesty, which should then rise to a peak of seven thousand per month by this time next year, and we can keep that up for so long as our mines provide materials and our plants provide power, Your Majesty - 'til Kingdom Come!"

The King nodded, solemly. "Terrible circumstances, Mr Golding, terrible. But you are clearly doing your best, and the Nation is thankful for that."

"Thankyou, Your Majesty," the manager stammered, "thankyou very much indeed! I'll be sure to pass your praise onto the lads!"

"Be sure to do that, My Golding. I'm afraid that time is short and my visit must come to an end. You have been most hospitable," the King shook the manager's hand. The manager, Mr Golding, looked awestruck at shaking his Sovereign's hand, and just managed to stammer a "Thankyou, Your Majesty," and give a clumbsy bow. A few minutes later, the King was gone. This time to visit a tank factory. In the coming months, there would be a lot more factory visits.
Questers
18-06-2006, 01:06
RAF Softmore

The lights were off. God damnit, they were all dead. He smashed his table on the head. No wait, the head on the table. God damnit, they were all dead. Motherfucker. He smashed his table on the head - I mean, his head on the table. Motherfucker, they were all dead.

Air Commodore Jarrington was shaking. He had drunk a little too much, the bottles broken on the floor of his office showing this. It was dark, the lights were off, but he had become accompanied with the dark, and he could see the photo of his family propped on his desk which was ruffled with papers, coffee stains, and an empty bottle or two. He couldn't bare looking at the photo anymore, and in a drunken rage he flung it off the table.

They're all goddamn dead. ALL OF THEM. Jarrington sighed and looked up. The fan. Of course, the fan. Standing on his chair, fumbling for the rope he had brought in earlier, the air commodore hastily fixed it to the top of the fan, and turned the other end into a noose. Standing on his chair and slotting the noose over his kneck, Jarrington sighed and looked down. He could see the depths of hell waiting for him. God damn it, motherfucker, they were ALL DEAD. he could see the faces looking up at him, all eight thousand of them, urging him to kick the chair and meet them. His old friends. Comrades. Fly buddies.

'Mike? What the fuck?'

The lights flickered on, and in the airway, Air Marshall John Brown was looking up at Jarrington, past the broken bottles, the papers everywhere, the photo of his family lying broken on the floor. Right up to the Air Commodore about to kick the chair up from underneath him.

'John.' Jarrington muttered. 'Go away. I can't.. I can't.. They're all dead John. All of them. All eight thousand. Mother FUCKER.' Jarrington winced and reached out to jump, when Brown responded.

'Mike! Don't!'

'And why not? I'm worthless.' Jarrington spat. 'It's my fault. It's all my goddamn fault, and they're all GODDAMN DEAD.'

'Mike. Calm down.. it.. it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault they were badly equipped. It wasn't you fault-' John tried to reason.

'You just don't get it, do you?' Jarrington replied, still shaking. There was something wrong with him. 'No, you just don't fucking get it. I sent them out. I sent them in the air, again, and again, and up again until they were all dead. It was MY FAULT. And THEY paid for it.' Jarrington looked down. 'And I'm about to, too.'

'Mike, don't. Please. Think of your family, the war effort.. the war hasn't ended.

'Oh? More pilots I can send to the slaughter.' Jarrington was whimpering. 'They trusted me, John. Were friends. I knew them all. And I let them die, I let, no, I ordered them to go up like lambs to the slaughter. What have I done?'

'Your duty, Mike. Now, come on. Get down from there.'

'Duty. Some duty. You know, they trained me at the Acadamy. You know how many hours of flight time I have. They prepared me the best they could. But they didn't prepare me for the blood of eight thousand good men on my hands.' Jarrington was still shaking, the shaking had gotten worse and he was stammering.

'Come on Mike. You didn't order them to die. You know where your orders came from.'

'The Commisssariat.' Jarrington spat. 'Those motherfucking, heartless, blood sucking bastards.'

'Look, you need some sleep. God knows how long you've been awake.' Both of them knew that Jarrington hadn't really slept since the beginning of the war.

'Come over to the Staff quarters, have a nice meal and a good long sleep, and see how you feel.'

Jarrington kicked the chair.

But he had removed the noose first.
Juumanistra
17-07-2006, 03:18
[Done at the request of Hoggy. Will be finished within the next 36 hours.]

As the sun set, the wheels of Operation Calamity began to turn. All across the front, waves of helicopters began to crisscross the frontier. The first wave, consisting over a hundred Se-18 Marathon medium-lift helicopters, inserted more than two thousand special forces, forward air controllers, and combat engineers behind Questarian lines to begin the laborious task of preparing the battlefield for the beginning of Operation Calamity. The first wave had two principal missions upon insertion. The first, tasked to the special forces and FACs, was the identification of the enemy’s disposition and the assessment of Questarian military strength around the intended landing zones for the second and third waves of the heliborne deployments intended in Operation Calamity, as well as compiling and sighting priority targets for aerial and artillery strikes in the first moments of the offensive. Simultaneously, the combat engineers deployed with the first wave would begin the preparation of the intended landing zones for the incoming second and third waves.

With the brisk winter’s night at their back, the men of the Juumanistran insertion began their work. The FACs and special forces spotters began to add another layer to the Juumanistran targeting infrastructure, deploying several dozen Aizala backpack UAVs and feeding the Army intelligence from behind Questarian lines. The combat engineers prepared the landing zones, cordoning off intended landing sites with LED lanterns and uplinked signal beacons to ensure the troop-laden choppers made it to their intended landing zones.

Concurrently, similar operations were occurring deeper behind Questarian lines, […]

And then, at 1306 hours, the cacophony began.

Across the 350 mile wide western front, the artillery of the assembled Juumanistran formations opened created a macabre melody of booms! and whooshs! as tube and rocket artillery let loose their deadly payloads upon the whole of the Questarian line. The greatest cacophony arose from the Juuman center, as the 6,000 mixed caliber towed and self-propelled tube artillery of Victory Corps focused their wrath upon a fifteen mile stretch of flat ground at the center of the Questarian ground. In an instant, a gaping wound was blown in the Questarian center, with high explosive shells and rockets rained shrapnel and submunitions down upon the Questarian trench lines in salvo after salvo of precision guided suppression fire.

For all of its intensity, the bombardment was remarkably pert. After a mere 90 minutes, the JMA-155 Spartacus II self-propelled 155mm howitzer batteries, which comprised the bulk of the field artillery assets for Victory Corps, lowered their guns and rolled forward, in order to provide the artillery cover that would be required to exploit the hole blown in the Questarian lines. The towed 155mm battalions of the Home Guard would remain on station providing fire support for Victory Corps flanks before dismantling and joining the followthrough towards Mt. Highdon: The JMA-325 Anchorhead and JMA-270 Steamboy MLRS battalions would continue to provide wide-area suppressive fire, advancing as was necessary to keep pace with the advancing armored thrust.